Good Enough
by Malenkaya
Summary: Draco Malfoy has a history of falling short of certain expectations. After seven years at Hogwart's, he's come to realize a simple fact in all his years trying to impress his father, the only person he's truly failed to be good enough for is himself.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Good Enough

Author: Malenkaya

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own my version of Draco. So there  All else, of course, belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Reviews: Please do. I always enjoy feedback—just make it constructive, please.

A/N: These were actually written as an English assignment, but I enjoyed them—and it's always nice to get feedback on one's writing, plus I figured there wasn't _quite_ enough Harry Potter fanfiction out there (as if!). And I always do love exploring Draco's motivations—love him or hate him, he is undeniably a convoluted child.

**Good Enough**

_Part I-- Hogwart's, Year V_

When Draco was born, his mother told him he was the splitting image of his father. White blond locks; cold grey eyes; and the pale, pointed face of his ancestry, he would grow up to be the perfect vision to his father.

His father looked down on him with those same cold eyes, and stated he saw no resemblance; where Draco was weak, he was strong, and where Draco was nothing more than a baby, innocent and vulnerable, Lucius was fully adult, powerful and invincible.

When Draco was eight, his mother told him he was an angel.

His father told him that made him useless.

When Draco reached eleven, and entered into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he knew things were changing. He was going to be able to learn magic now; hopefully that would make things better. Hopefully he could make his father proud of him.

It didn't.

He wasn't good enough, at anything. With his Father's influence, he made the Quidditch team in his second year—and still couldn't manage to win a single game.

He still wasn't good enough for his father, but now, at least, he knew the reason: Potter.

Potter stole everything from Draco. Every Quidditch victory for Potter meant a failure for Draco; every teacher, every classmate, who cared about Potter became Draco's enemy, until he was left with no one but the Slytherins and Professor Snape for company.

Potter had people who cared about them. Potter had _friends_, and even though Weasley lived in a hovel and Granger was a Mudblood, they liked Potter.

Draco had never had friends.

Potter was the problem, and Draco refocused his energies from trying to succeed to trying to ensure Potter's failure. He cheated at Quidditch. He stalked Potter in the hallways, taunted him and mocked him for everything that made him who he was. He set ridiculous pranks on Potter and helped Rita Skeeter make life hell for him, and even though it was very amusing, it didn't help matters.

Potter never failed. And Draco never succeeded.

In the fifth year, he came close. He almost beat Potter in Quidditch _and_ got him kicked off the team. Better yet, he almost made sure Potter was _expelled_ from Hogwarts. Surely, if Potter was expelled, that would have been it. Potter would have been out of Draco's rightful place, and Draco could succeed—he could win at Quidditch and be every teacher's favorite, and his Father could say he was amounting to something.

His father was captured, instead, and thrown into Azkaban.

"You're going to pay," Draco had whispered to Potter, his voice contorted with rage. "_I'm_ going to make you pay for what you've done to my Father…"

And Potter had laughed at him.

Maybe then Draco had realized that he couldn't do it. That he would never avenge his father—he wasn't good enough, wasn't powerful enough, wasn't ambitious enough.

He wasn't his father.

But he pushed on, because this was what he'd been striving for his entire life. All his life he'd been taught to prove himself to his father, and all his life he'd failed.

But in the end, he kept trying, because what else did he have to come back to?

Nothing and no one but himself, and even that was already long-since replaced with the words of his father:

"A thief or a plunderer… That may be all indeed all he is fit for."

Nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Good Enough

Author: Malenkaya

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own my version of Draco. So there  All else, of course, belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Reviews: Please do. I always enjoy feedback—just make it constructive, please.

A/N: These were actually written as an English assignment, but I enjoyed them—and it's always nice to get feedback on one's writing, plus I figured there wasn't _quite_ enough Harry Potter fanfiction out there (as if!). And I always do love exploring Draco's motivations—love him or hate him, he is undeniably a convoluted child.

**Good Enough**

_Part II-- Hogwart's, Year VI_

I was never good enough.

From the time I was born, I was never good enough for my father. I was never good enough for my mother, or anyone around me.

I always thought that when this day came, it would be the single most glorious moment of my life.

It wasn't. I couldn't do it. I couldn't… I couldn't kill Professor Dumbledore.

He was the only one, in the end, you know, to congratulate me. All year I worked so hard to do what He Who Must Not Be Named had told me to do, and nobody believed I could do it. My own mother wouldn't even let me try; Professor Snape followed me everywhere I went, and I hated him for it.

But in the end, he was the one who stopped me from killing Dumbledore. I was always afraid that he would do that, that he'd steal the glory from me, but after he did it… I don't know what I think anymore. Maybe it was never my glory to begin with.

Dumbledore said something, before he died, when I was up there with him. He said: "Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe."

I haven't thought of myself as innocent in a long time. Father… never permitted it. But maybe he was right.

Now He's going to kill me. Professor Snape is trying to help me, but I know it won't work, it's too late for that. No one can help me.

All my life I've tried so hard to make my father happy. When Potter had my father thrown in prison, I hated him for it. I _still_ hate him for it.

But I thought… maybe, now I could finally make him proud. Maybe I never stopped to think about what following He Who Must Not Be Named entailed. Maybe I thought I could do it. I can't remember anymore.

It was the only chance I've ever had to make my father proud, to prove myself. To finally _be_ someone, not just Father's useless son or Potter's useless shadow.

It was my only chance, and I failed.

But when I was up there, with Professor Dumbledore, I realized… I'm not my father. I can't be my father. Father would have killed Dumbledore without a second thought, and I couldn't do it.

All my life, I've been trying to make my father happy… and I realized, today, that it was impossible. My victory was hollow, was bloody and _wrong_, and now I have nowhere to go.

I'm going to die, He Who Must Not Be Named is going to kill me, and I don't care.

Maybe Potter should have just killed me; maybe Snape should have just let me lie there on the floor, bleeding, soaked in the vestiges of failure, failure against Potter, failure in everything. Maybe that would have been easier.

All my life I've been trying to prove myself, all my life I've been trying to be my father.

And now I've realized it's impossible. I can't be my father—I don't even think I want to be my father anymore.

I have nowhere left to go. I have nothing. I _am_ nothing.

So He Who Must Not Be Named—_Voldemort_—is going to kill me.

But it doesn't matter anymore, because I'm already dead.


End file.
